Two Paintball Guns and Glow Sticks
by MsWarbird
Summary: Not only does Santana have to listen to Sam's ridiculous alien theories, now she'll be forced to spend an extended amount of time with Tina. This is horrible. She really wishes Brittany were here.


Rated T for extreme swearing.

**A/N:** I know Sam's character must not be very popular lately because of the show, but please have a canon-free mind while reading this. I like Sam's character, and in this story he's a bro, nothing more. Also, this is not meant to offend anyone who did believe in the December 21st apocalypse thing. I just think Santana would be the type to ridicule the whole idea.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee… Kinda obvious at this point, though.

* * *

Samuel Evans is convinced tomorrow is the end of the world. And, unfortunately, Santana just happened to lose a bet to his scheming wife last weekend.

Losing a bet against Quinn Fabray has never burned this bad. This is truly the worst thing she could possibly be doing. When she said _anything_, she seriously did not fucking mean _this_.

"_You lose, you ride out the night of the apocalypse with Sam."_

Santana had, of course, questioned why she didn't spend the night of the end of the world with him, and Quinn had laughed in her face.

"_You seriously don't believe in that, do you? I'll tell him I'm stuck at my mother's house without a ride or something. I'll take Britt and the kids with me. You can deal with him and his crazy. Have fun."_

But Santana had been sure. So fucking sure that she'd win that stupid bet. Because really, what were the chances that Rachel Berry's stupid, mediocre reality show would get renewed for another painful season? Apparently, really fucking high. An inevitability, in hindsight. "Gold Star Berry" was unfortunately a huge hit, despite its highly misleading title. Santana had no idea how, but the dwarf managed to keep millions and millions of lonely housewives and horny preteens entertained every single Tuesday night.

Even years after high school, Rachel fucking Berry is ruining her life.

Two days ago, Brittany had given her a long, compassionate hug, a firm boob grab, and a kiss goodbye, before carrying a sleeping Cruz and an grouchy, sluggish Alba into the back of Quinn's car, heading to the airport to spend the week in Florida. And now, Santana was stuck with Sam Evans: surprise doomsday prepper.

"I don't understand. I clearly remember having fifty gallons of water stocked in here. Where'd it go?"

"I don't know, Sam. Maybe you drank it all?"

"No, no. I specifically labeled them all as apoca-water, Quinn would know not to use those."

Santana stares at him and narrows her eyes.

"Apoca-water. Apocalypse water."

"Right," she sighs and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and choosing to humor Sam. "Maybe it evaporated?"

Sam scoffs. "Don't be silly, Santana. This room is sealed tight. No air, no evaporation."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it works—"

"No evaporation." He dusts off his hands and reaches back for his clipboard. "So we're missing about seven gallons. And I'm not sure how much canned food we have left. If it comes down to it, I guess I can break into the grocery store to get more."

"Sam, I really don't think that'll be necessary."

"Why?" His eyes widen in terror. "You think the aliens will get us before we even run out of food?"

"What? Aliens? What the fuck are you talk—"

"Oh no, I think you're right, Santana. I haven't boarded up the windows or anything! What was I thinking? We're easy prey!" He starts walking around the room frantically, looking out the windows. "And where's Quinn? Where are the kids? Why are you not panicking that Brittany's not here yet!?"

Santana rolls her eyes. Quinn hadn't even tried to sound convincing when she had called earlier and told Sam she wouldn't be able to make it home in time.

_Bitch is just trying to make this harder for me._

"They said the car broke down and they have no other way of getting over here in time. Do you really want them to _walk_ all the way here? Even with all the… Aliens?" It sounds even stupider as the words come out of her mouth.

"I…" Sam clenches his fists nervously and looks down at his shoes. "I just want them to be safe. You're right, they're better off staying there. That just means we're gonna have to pack up as much as we can and get to _them_, instead."

Santana's eyes widen. Brittany and Quinn are not over at Mrs. Fabray's house. If the idea of somehow driving all the way to Ohio sounds daunting, Santana doesn't even want to think about what it'd be like to drive even farther to Florida.

"No, no. Sam, listen to yourself. You just said you wanted to keep them safe? If we go out there now, there's no way we'll make it! Let's wait a couple days. We're no good to them if we're dead."

Sam sighs and slumps down into a chair, elbows at his knees, and face in his hands. "Okay, okay. That's true, yeah. We'll just wait, then. In a few days we'll get ready to go." He looks up at Santana, determined. "We'll get them back, Santana. Quinn, Brittany, the kids. We'll get them."

If Santana didn't think this whole situation was ridiculous and that Sam wasn't a giant moron for believing in it, she'd actually find his worry over not only his family, but also Santana's, kind of touching.

_Fucking Trouty. Damn charmer._

Santana just nods, flashing him a small, grateful smile. "So come on then," she stands up and begins looking through the rows of food and supplies. "Let's get to counting these things and keeping your list up to date."

"Actually, that's not really that important anymore."

"Why not?"

"Well," he moves to stand in front of an open window. "These windows, the doors. Aliens are strong enough to break them down if they can sense us inside." He nods his head and turns back to look at her. "We need to seal them. Board them up. I think I have a couple wood planks in the garage. If we run out, we can just rip apart one of the upstairs doors."

See, if Santana were a bad person (or as at least as bad as most people think she is), she'd totally go along with Sam's plan. Practically destroying Quinn's house does sound kind of fun. And she'd _really_ enjoy getting a front-row seat to watching the other woman practically rip out her own hair and rip Sam a new one when she got home.

_Heh, serves her right. Bitch took my awesome-ass family and left me here with _this_ dude._

Then again, she's pretty sure Quinn would find some way of blaming her for all this. And then she'd somehow make Santana pay for it. Dishing out cash isn't exactly a problem anymore for the highly successful, stinking rich Pierce-Lopez family, but Santana would rather spend that money on more productive, fulfilling things, like building that indoor rollercoaster her kids want or buying a life-sized replica of Brittany made out of gold. Yeah, those are much better uses of her money.

So, considering the probably high costs, and the no doubt killer pout and glare combination she'd receive from Brittany for destroying her best friend's house, she wisely chooses not to devastate Fabray's house and put a stop to her stupidass husband's plans.

"Trouty?" Sam stops rambling about the dangers of radiation poisoning and turns to look at Santana with a questioning gaze. "I think if we just hide out in the basement it'll be enough. No need to waste energy now, you know? We might need it."

Santana should really receive an award for her expert, on-the-spot bullshitting skills.

Sam nods blankly. "Right again, Santana." He purses his lips and looks at her in contemplation. "You know, I'm glad you're here. If not Quinn or the boys, I'm glad it's you I'm having to spend the end of the world with."

Santana stares at him for a second before flashing him a tight-lipped smile and a small nod in acknowledgement. "Thanks, I guess." She grins a bit wider. "I'm afraid I can't really say the same, though."

This time, Sam laughs loudly and shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, I didn't really expect you to."

"Well, good. We understand each other," she says as she bumps his shoulder and reaches behind him to carry a crate of cans. "So come on, then. Let's start carrying all this shit into the basement." She pauses suddenly and looks back at him. "Hey Sam, you'd fight an alien off me, right?"

"Wouldn't even hesitate."

"Cool." She nods. "Me too, probably."

* * *

"That's the last of them, right?"

"Yep, looks like it. Did you get the aluminum foil?"

"What? Why? You planning on roasting a turkey in here?"

"No, no. For the tin foil hats."

Santana turns to looks at him. "The what?"

"You know, the hats? So aliens can't read our minds?"

"I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that, okay? That's gotta be the stupidest thing you've said all day, and it's just way too easy for me to make fun of, so consider yourself lucky that I'm in such a forgiving mood right now."

"No, Santana, it's true! It blocks out EMF radiation. We need it to be safe from the—"

"Sam?" He stops talking. "Do you even know what EMF radiation is?"

That stumps him apparently. He scrunches his eyebrows and looks away. "Well, not entirely. I asked Artie but all he said was—"

"Don't talk about Wheels in front of me."

"Sorry. I just know they're bad, okay? We don't want those things in our brains. And from what I understand aliens transmit that kind of thing in the air."

"That's ridiculous. You know that, right?"

"Santana…" He sighs. "Can you just get the foil, please?"

She rolls her eyes and heads for the stairs. "I have no idea how Quinn puts all with all your shit. Seriously."

"Thanks!"

Santana is so fucking glad that she, unlike Quinn, didn't marry a complete and total idiot. Her Britt-Britt is way too smart for all the shit that comes out of Sam Evans' stupid, fucking gigantic mouth.

When she gets to kitchen and sees the large picture of Quinn and Sam on some stupid vacation taped on the fridge she instantly gets an urge to rip it apart.

Fucking Quinn.

She shakes her head and ignores the photo, instead moving toward the cupboards to start looking for the aluminum foil, hoping to find it quickly and avoid thinking about just how ridiculous this whole idea is.

"Stupid Berry with her stupid show about stupid things from her stupid life. If I ever see that midget again, I'm so gonna tear—"

"Blarghhhh!"

The loud noise from behind her causes Santana to jump about a foot in the air before she turns around, instantly being met with two huge yellow eyes on a green, scaly face. "Jesus!"

She backs away as much as she can until finally hitting the wall behind her, before she registers the annoying laughter in the room.

"Oh my god, Santana. You should've seen your face!" Tina yells out between giggles while she takes off the hideous mask. "I wish I had taken a picture."

Santana instantly sees red, and reaches forward with the box of foil to smack Tina on the head. "Tina, you dumb fuck! You scared the shit out of me!"

"I know! And it was fantastic!"

"You think that was funny!?" Santana runs a hand through her hair and attempts to control her racing breathing. "I'm on edge as it is. I _so_ did not need that!"

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't need it, but damn was it funny to do it anyways." Tina smirks at her while jumping up to sit on the kitchen island, smacking her lips and motioning toward the foil in Santana's hand. "So watcha got there? You guys cooking?"

"No, Sam wants some dumbass hats…"

"Ha, to block his mind or something, right?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Of course you would know about that, geek." She looks at Tina clearly before being struck by another thought. "Hey, what the fuck are you doing here, anyways? I thought you were in China visiting family."

Tina glares at her. "Cleveland. My family is from Cleveland." Santana merely shrugs, causing Tina to roll her eyes back at her. "And I'm here because Brittany called me."

The mention of her wife's name instantly catches Santana's attention. "Britt called you? For what?"

"Said you lost a bet and were stuck spending doomsday with Sam. She wanted to make sure you didn't end up killing him, so she called me over just to be safe."

Santana just doesn't understand why Brittany thinks she likes Tina. Sure they're best friends and everything, but Santana _hates_ Tina. She likes making fun of her over the phone, not in person. Tina sucks.

"Since when are you the giving type? You never do anybody any favors."

Tina scoffs. "That's not true. I don't do _you_ any favors. And I just really wanted to see you go along with this stuff." Tina laughs. "Tin foil hats. Really, Santana?"

Santana glares at her friend before turning and heading in the direction of the basement, disappointed when she hears Tina following her. "I'm not wearing this shit, Sam is."

"Oh yeah, like that makes a huge difference."

"Shut up, Tina."

"Hey, you okay? I thought I heard screaming but I… Oh, hi Tina!" Sam stops them in the hall, carrying an alarming amount of toilet paper.

"Hey Sam," Tina greets, walking past Santana with a smirk and taking a few rolls of toilet paper off Sam's hands. "What's all this for?"

"Well, luckily Quinn agreed to remodel the basement last year and extend it to include a bathroom, so all we gotta do before locking up is just make sure we have lots of toilet paper." He grins, satisfied with himself, before looking questioningly at Tina. "What are you doing here, Tina?"

"Oh, no worries, Sam. Tina was just leaving—"

"Actually," Tina interrupts, glaring at Santana. "I was wondering if I could spend the night here with you guys? I don't want to be alone. You know, in case _something_ happens."

Sam nods his head seriously, and Santana mentally slaps herself in the face. Great, this night just got a whole lot more unbearable. Not only does she have to listen to Trouty's ridiculous theories, now she'll be forced to spend an extended period of time in close proximity of Tina fucking Cohen-Chang-Chang. This is horrible.

"Yeah, that's a good idea." He smiles tightly and gestures toward the open basement door. "Santana and I already moved all our supplies down there, we're gonna wait it out a couple days, then make our way to Ohio to pick up the family. You're more than welcome to join us, of course."

"Sounds good," Tina agrees, trying to contain a giggle. "And hey, Santana mentioned tin foil hats? What's that all about?"

"Oh!" Sam's face instantly lights up as he starts making his way into the basement, Tina following right behind him. "Well, I first saw that in a movie, actually. Have you watched 'Signs'? Movie about aliens and crop circles?"

Santana rolls her eyes and turns around in the direction of Quinn's office. If she's going to spending that much time in an enclosed space with Fabray's paranoid husband and her own horrible best friend, she's going to be needing lots and lots of hard liquor. Meaning, she'll have to open up the woman's not-so-secret bottom cabinet, where she knows the good stuff is hidden.

_Too bad, Fabray. Bet or no bet, you're gonna owe me so much more after tonight._

* * *

"Ooh, this is definitely the good stuff. Nice find, Santana."

"Fabray is a horrible human being, but damn she has good taste in expensive liquor," Santana takes the bottle from Tina and takes a long swig. "The bitch."

"You know, I really think we should keep sober." Sam tells them, eyeing the bottle warily.

Tina frowns at him. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Look, Evans. If the world is really ending, I want to die while doing something I love, okay?" Santana exhales and sets the bottle down. "Britt's not here, my kids are not here. Just let me enjoy some fucking alcohol, alright?"

Sam doesn't seem convinced, but wisely chooses to drop the subject, once again focusing on adjusting the radio in front of him.

"So how long do we have to stay in here, again?" Tina asks while standing up.

"I'm not sure. Long enough, I guess?"

"That's what she said," Santana mumbles while slumping down against the wall.

Tina chuckles and shakes her head. "Right, I'm gonna go get my phone, then. If we're gonna be stuck in here for a while, then I need to be able to talk to people other than you two."

That instantly gets Sam on his feet, looking at the shorter woman in complete confusion. "You can't go out there! It's not safe!"

"What?" Tina raises an eyebrow and looks at him. "I'm just going out to the kitchen, I think I left my phone there. I'll be fine."

Sam moves to stand in front of her, blocking her path. "No, no. I mean you can't go outside of the basement. We didn't secure the entire house, it's not safe out there."

Tina scrunches her face in amusement and smirks at him. "Sam, it's just the kitchen. Trust me, no aliens are gonna get me, alright?" She pushes him out of the way with her arm and reaches for the basement door.

And instantly Santana knows something is terribly wrong.

"What the hell?" Tina tries the handle once again, before looking around the door. "Where's the lock on this thing?"

"Oh, you need a key for that. We didn't want the boys locking themselves in here."

Santana rises to her feet. "So where's the key?"

"Right here…" Sam reaches for his pocket. "Err… here." He reaches for another, then another when he still comes up empty. "Uh…"

"You…" Santana blinks her eyes repeatedly.

"Oh god, no." Tina's eyes widen in horror.

"Umm, I think I might have left them in my other jacket…"

"You locked us in here." Santana whispers, dumbstruck.

_There's absolutely no way this is happening. Come on, I was playing nice._

"I…" Sam shakes his head and lifts his arms in front of him, trying to calm the anger already building up in the room. "Sorry?"

Santana stares blankly at the wall behind Sam. It's ridiculous. She just can't believe he would really be that stupid. He's married to Quinn, wouldn't some of her brains rub off on him? Ten more seconds of tense silence pass before the dots finally connect and a spark reignites inside of Santana that instantly fires up her rage.

"Evans, you dumb shit!"

Tina immediately springs into action, wrapping her arms around Santana's waist and being sure to pin her left arm. Santana struggles in her arms, trembling with rage and shaking Tina violently from side to side.

"¡Pendejo imbécil! ¡Ya sabía que ibas a hacer alguna estupidez como siempre!"

"I'm sorry!" Sam holds his hands up in front of him and backs up quickly, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the very angry Santana. "I was so focused on the supplies that I forgot to take the keys out! I'm sorry!"

"¿Sabes lo que te voy a hacer? ¡Cosas malas, idiota!"

"Santana, just leave it. He feels bad enough already." Tina flashes him the coldest, most soul-crushing glare she can muster and snarls. "He's going to be stuck here with us for who knows how long. I'm pretty sure he definitely wasn't going for that."

"You have a lot to make up for, Trouty. You better fucking not piss me off anymore."

Sam just nods his head, not trusting his voice not to quake in fear and thus refuel Santana's rage.

She glares at him some more before untangling herself from Tina's arms, giving her a look, promising not to kill Sam.

"I better call Quinn or something. We need to get out of here."

"What?" Sam asks, wide-eyed. "No! Remember the aliens? No one can be out there!"

"What did I say?" Santana snarls. "No more pissing me off." She pokes him hard on the chest and makes him take a step back. "Stop with this apocalypse bullshit, alright? Nothing's happening. I'm here just to make sure you don't end up hurting yourself or something. Don't think I actually believe any of this."

Sam looks like he's about to reply, but a firm grip on his forearm from Tina silences him.

"She's right, we can't be stuck in here, Sam."

The man sighs and sits back on the floor, slumping back against the wall. "It's real…"

Santana rolls her eyes and takes out her phone, frowning when she realizes there's no signal. "What the fuck?" She moves around the room, waving the device in the air. "Is there usually no reception in here?"

"No, there is. I usually sneak down here when I call that Star Trek talk show."

"Right…" Santana shakes her phone violently and paces around the basement. "Shit. Check your phones. You guys getting anything?"

Tina just shrugs her shoulders. "Left it out there, remember?"

Sam closes his eyes and hangs his head. "I didn't think I'd need it…"

On days like this, Santana is convinced that the world is getting back at her for all the shit she used to do in high school. If that's the case, she really, really hopes tonight will finally even out the scales.

_The amount of shit I'm getting tonight is ridiculous. I miss my wife so fucking much._

"Okay. We're okay." She takes a deep breath and goes back to sitting against the wall. "We'll just wait here, then. Britt and Q will be home this weekend, we just have to wait for them to let us out of here." She sees Sam moving to say something and interrupts him. "No, Sam. There's no end of the world. They're in Florida vacationing."

Sam chokes on his own spit and turns to look at her wildly. "What!?"

"Yeah," she sighs. "And I fucking wish I were with them."

* * *

"This is all you brought? Board games and Star Wars movies?" Tina looks at the items in front of her with disgust. "This is boring."

"I didn't think to bring anything else, I thought I'd be in here with Quinn and the kids, too. We wouldn't have had any time with them in here."

"But they're not in here. We are," Santana groans in frustration and looks back at the movies in her hands. "And you brought the shit movies, too. Who the hell likes the prequels? They fucking suck!"

"I know!" Sam exclaims loudly, his face twisting in anguish. "But Quinn said we lost them when we moved, I haven't seen them since!"

"And you didn't think to buy new copies?" Tina asks from beside Santana.

"I… I wanted to… But I forgot?"

"Who the fuck forgets Star Wars, moron?" Santana throws the shit movies aside and stands up, forgetting the laptop in the middle of the room and beginning to pace. "Look, we've been in here for hours already." She checks her phone. "It's six in the morning. We might as well just go to sleep or something."

"Yeah, I'm about ready to drop. I need my beauty sleep."

"Beauty?" Santana looks Tina up and down, smirking. "Is that what you call it?"

Tina rolls her eyes and shoves her friend out of the way. "I wouldn't be talking if I were you." She walks into the bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror. "I'm looking good, like always. Can't deny that I—"

A spark resonates in the basement and the lights instantly flicker off.

"Really, Santana? I get the jealousy, but turn the lights back on, come on."

"What? I didn't turn them off."

"Uh… Guys?" Sam asks from somewhere in the dark room.

"Evans, it's not funny. Turn the lights on."

"I'm trying to, Santana." Santana hears movement as Sam walks toward the small desk in the corner of the basement. "This lamp isn't working either. Neither is the clock. I think the power went out."

"I told you, there's no apocalypse. That shit is just mass panic, nothing to worry about—"

Santana is interrupted by a deafening blast coming from outside the house. The walls in the basement tremble for the next few seconds before a much smaller sound quickly follows.

"What was that?"

"Was that an explosion?"

"I… I don't know." Santana turns her head in the direction of the voices, shaking her head at the darkness in front of her. "Sam, where's the window in this place?"

"There is none. The basement is sealed shut. Other than the main door there is no other exit to the outside."

"Fuck."

"Santana, what was that?"

"I don't know, Tina."

"It's happening."

"Nothing is happening, Sam."

As her eyes get adjusted to the pitch black room, Santana sees Sam scoff and step closer into the middle of the room. "Then what was that?"

"It was probably a car or something… Maybe an alarm?"

Tina walks towards them. "That sounded like an explosion."

Sam nods his head. "You can't explain that away, Santana." He points in the direction of the nearby street. "Something just blew up."

"It could've been anything."

"Santana…"

"You too, Tina?" She scoffs. "Come on, let's be rational. It could've been _anything_."

"Like aliens!"

Santana rubs her temple in frustration. "Evans. It is not the fucking end of the world. Aliens are not fucking real."

"Then what was that?"

"I don't know!" She yells out. "I don't fucking know, okay?"

The three adults stand there, in the middle of a pitch black basement, staring at each other silently. Their eyes flicker back and forth between each other and the basement door in apprehension.

Sam opens his mouth like he's going to say something but no words come out. He looks anxiously at Santana.

"What, Sam?"

He swallows before answering. "The kids… Quinn and Brittany…"

"Shit," Santana breathes back. She takes a couple seconds before she shakes her head, clearing her mind. "Look, we don't know for sure what's going on, okay? For all we know it could just be a car crash or something."

"Do you really think that?" Tina asks quietly.

"I don't know what to think."

She really wishes she would've gone with Brittany.

They share even more worried looks as the ideas start pouring in. Santana watches Tina nervously squirm in place, no doubt thinking about her own significant others.

Their silence is interrupted by loud thuds resonating throughout the room.

"Now what?"

Sam looks around the room in thought, before moving in the direction of the basement door. He sticks his neck out and takes a closer listen to the loud bashes. "I think that's coming from the front door."

Santana and Tina share a glance before Tina speaks out. "You think?"

The man nods his head absently. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

Even more knocks follow before a loud crash makes everyone jolt in place.

"…was that also the front door?" Tina whispers.

Sam nods and looks back at the basement entrance. "Are those steps?"

Sure enough, Santana can hear what sounds like loud steps above them. She swallows but remains quiet, looking at her two friends who are similarly choosing to keep silent.

"…anyone here…?"

Santana's eyes fly open.

"…hello…?"

Sam rushes back down the steps and moves to grab something underneath the desk. Santana sees a shiny red paintball gun now firmly gripped and aimed at the door. She raises her eyebrows at him and Sam only shrugs and resumes his position.

"…heard a noise…here to check…everything okay…?"

"What?" Tina whispers.

"They're trying to trick us," Sam whispers back. "To get us to come out."

Santana stays quiet, trying to pick out even more words. The voice sounds forced, almost mechanical. Definitely not anybody's she's heard before.

"Anyone….here…?"

Tina moves closer to Santana and grips her forearm. Santana looks at her briefly and narrows her gaze at the basement door. Something's not right.

_That can't be aliens…_

The steps begin to move away from the area before finally dying off. The trio remains quiet and unmoving for a few more minutes before Santana finally breaks the silence.

"That can't be aliens."

Sam huffs from next to her. "Santana, stop trying to make sense of everything."

"Sam, what kind of alien speaks like that?" She questions him, frustrated. "All the movies and shows you've seen, what kind of alien speaks English, period?"

The man shakes his head and scrunches his features. "This is the real thing now. We don't know how smart they can be. They could be recreating voices and trying to get us to come out."

"Why would they do that? Can't they just break open the door?"

That stumps him, but to his credit, Sam recovers quickly. "Maybe they weren't sure we were in here. We were keeping quiet and the basement walls are pretty thick, maybe they couldn't smell us either."

Santana remains unconvinced, and turns her attention back to Tina, who is still standing quietly beside her, eyes unfocused. "Tina, what do you think?"

Tina blinks a couple times before looking up at the questioning gazes. "It could've been anything, right?" She looks at Santana seriously. "Maybe aliens? I don't know."

"They're not aliens."

"We don't know that for sure, though."

"Tina, come on. You're smart… Kind of. Use your brain. None of this makes any sense."

"Tina's right, we don't know for sure."

Santana sighs and looks back at him. "Trouty, stop making up conspiracy theories. That wasn't an alien, okay?"

"Then what was it?"

"Stop asking me that!"

Tina interrupts them, knowing an increasingly-frustrated Santana when she sees one. "Either way we're stuck in here. None of this matters when we can't even get out."

Santana really fucking hates when Tina's right. The occasion is so damn rare that it makes her even more angry. Why the hell did Tina have to be here?

"Whatever."

Sam rolls his eyes and picks up another paintball gun. "Here." He holds it out to Santana.

"Do you want to paint them to death? Maybe find a color that doesn't go well with their skin tone?"

"No. But it's all I've got."

"You were preparing for the end of the world and all you have is two paintball guns?"

He sighs. "It's all Quinn let me keep in here. Guns are too dangerous and she said she didn't trust me with a hunting knife."

That causes Santana to smirk. "You're so fucking whipped."

"You're one to talk," Tina bites back in his defense. She looks at Sam and holds her hands out expectantly. "Where's my weapon?"

"Uhh…" Sam digs around in a box underneath the desk and pulls out a box of glow sticks. He looks at them strangely before offering them to her. "Maybe you could fling those?"

"Ha," Santana laughs at Tina's confused expression. "You're good at that, right?" She flicks Tina's ear. "Think of them like ninja stars, only more chopstick-like."

Tina glares at her. "So racist."

* * *

It's about four in the afternoon when they hear noises upstairs once again.

By now they've managed to fling most of the monopoly pieces in all directions of the room, and the deck of cards now has some ripped in half.

Santana is at least glad to have highly-competitive friends.

They're sitting in the middle of the room once again, passing around a can of what's supposed to be canned beets, but tastes like, as Santana most eloquently put it, "moisty ass."

"This is awful," Tina chokes out in between chewing. "How long has that been in storage?"

Sam looks at the can in disgust. "A while. Maybe two years or so." He takes a large bite and passes the can to Santana. "They're not supposed to go bad, though."

"I think this is as fresh as they can get." Santana chews slowly and scrunches her face. "Fucking terrible."

"Maybe we should've tried something different?" Tina offers. "What else is there?"

Santana nods and stands, moving to check the labels of the cans stored up on the shelf. "Corn… Ground chicken… Pineapples… Meatballs..." She reaches up for the last can. "You can store meatballs for years? I didn't know that."

"Let's try it," Sam replies, putting the beets off to the side.

Tina wrestles with the can opener in hand, the dark room making it that much harder to get it open. As soon as the can is opened, they instantly wish they were back to eating beets.

"Never mind." Santana coughs and waves her hand in front of her. "I prefer beets."

"Yep, me too." Tina covers her nose with her hand. "I guess you can't store this."

"What do we do with it?" Sam looks around the room. "Where do we put it?"

"Do we just flush it down the toilet?"

"Wouldn't that clog it up?" Santana shakes her head. "If that thing overflows we're screwed."

"Maybe in small portions?"

"Who wants to do it? Someone volunteer." Sam holds the can out in front of him.

After seconds of just looking at each other, Santana rolls her eyes. "Rock, paper, scissors. Loser does it."

"There's three of us," Tina says. "One with the highest score?"

"Maybe we should all play each other at the same time?"

"That wouldn't work, Evans. Then how would we know who wins?"

"Then let's play each other separately."

"Okay, who goes first?"

"How do we know who wins in the end?"

"Maybe one of us should just volunteer, that'd be easier."

"You volunteer, then."

"No, you."

"I think you should do it."

Through their bickering, they barely hear the approaching footsteps. As soon as the sounds get louder, Santana makes a shushing noise and points up, instantly the other two quiet down and follow her gaze.

"Shit, what is it now?" Tina whispers.

The steps get closer and closer to the basement door, and they all quietly reach for their weapons. Santana grabs the paintball gun firmly and steps a little further ahead. Tina takes a few glow sticks and readies them over her shoulder. Sam grabs his own paintball gun with his free hand and looks nervously at the door.

A mumbled voice can be heard behind the door, before the handle starts twisting and the door is opening. The three adults inside jump into action.

"I don't have any idea where they could be, I thought they were going to stay here—"

Sam drops the can entirely and begins firing shots. The meatballs splatter to the ground covering three pairs of legs in the red, spoiled, gooey material.

Tina lets out a wild scream, instantly flinging glow sticks. She opens her mouth wide, flashing her teeth and her purple, beet-colored lips.

Santana drops to one knee in front of them, aiming straight ahead at the basement door and firing without abandon.

"What the hell!?" The doors closes and blocks off their attacks. "What are you assholes doing? It's me!"

"Was that Quinn?" "Fabray?" "Babe?"

The trio immediately cease their assault and look at the basement entrance cautiously.

"Are they trying to trick us again?"

"No you idiot, it's really me."

The door once again swings open and all three are blinded by the bright light now shining into their dark cave.

"Ahh!" Sam shouts, squinting through the light. "It's a trap! Look out!"

"No, Sam!" Santana reaches to the side to grab Sam's paintball gun, but it's too late.

Three quick shots are fired and hit Quinn Fabray right in the stomach, staining her pristine, beige coat.

"What are you guys doing?" A blonde head pops up behind Quinn's shoulder, and Santana instantly smiles at her wife's heavenly voice. "Why are you shooting at us?"

"Samuel!"

Sam's ears perk up at Quinn's angry tone and he drops the paintball gun. "Oh, it really is you." He stands fully and looks up the stairs. "Hi, Quinn. We thought you were aliens."

"Aliens!?" Quinn takes careful steps down into the basement and finally takes a closer look at the three adults in front of her. She notes the red goop at their feet, their tainted mouths, the weapons in their hands, and their pale appearances. She scowls. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Why are you guys wasting glow sticks?" Brittany follows Quinn into the room. "Are you having a party?"

"Santana?" Quinn sneers in her direction.

"It was Sam! He got us into thinking you were aliens trying to break in!"

"Listen to yourself!"

"Tina, I thought you were supposed to look after them. You know how they get, that's why I called you."

Tina looks down at her feet. "Sorry Britt, I got carried away too…"

"_How we get_?" Santana looks around the basement in horror. "No, no. Britt, baby, this is all Sam's fault."

"Hey!" Sam finally speaks up, walking forward and glaring at Santana. "This was your fault too. You fired at them!"

"You did so, first."

"Well, you followed right after me."

"I told you it wasn't aliens!"

"You didn't give me any other explanation!"

Tina walks ahead of them and towards the two confused blonde women. "It's a long story."

Quinn nods. "We know. The neighbor called us, said he had heard our fuse box blow up and had come over to check up on you guys when he didn't heard you."

"That was the neighbor?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, he knocked and when he didn't get a response he just busted open the door. He was afraid you creeps had done some damage or something."

"But, the voice…" Santana trails off.

"It was Mr. Reynolds. The guy with the voice box, remember him?"

Santana slaps herself in the face. "The robotic voice… Makes sense."

"Why are you guys covered in all that?" Brittany scrunches up her nose. "And what's that smell?"

"It's shame," Santana answers, walking forward and shaking her head. "That's the smell of shame."

* * *

"Thanks, Britt." Santana smiles at her wife as she accepts the offered shirt. After a quick shower to wash off over twenty-four hours of bad decisions, they're still at Quinn and Sam's, trying to clean up and put together their stories. "I'm glad you came when you did. I was just about to go insane being stuck in there with Trouty and Tina."

Brittany laughs quietly and tilts her head. "You really thought we were aliens?"

"No," Santana scoffs. "But after so many hours with those two I was just about to believe anything out there wanted to get me."

"I thought Tina would keep you sane."

Santana frowns. "Tina made it worse."

"Oh," Brittany shrugs and wraps her arms around Santana's waist. "My bad, then."

Santana feels Brittany burrow into her neck from behind and flutters her eyes closed. She really fucking missed this woman.

"I missed you," she admits quietly.

Brittany inhales Santana's scent sharply before placing a kiss on her shoulder blade. "Me too. I kept wishing you were there with us. The kids kept asking for you."

"They still sleeping?"

"Yeah, I'm glad, too. I think seeing all three of you like that in the basement would've surprised them." Brittany says jokingly.

Santana groans. "Don't remind me. I'm still trying to forget about all that."

Brittany smiles at her and pecks her cheek. "Come on, we ordered food. Quinn figured Sam would make you guys eat that canned stuff."

"I'm trying to forget that, too." Santana takes Brittany's hand and they make their way down the stairs. "I'm glad you're here now."

"Ditto," Brittany brings their clasped hands up and kisses the back of Santana's hand. "Good thing it wasn't the end of the world."

The two share another longing gaze and continue into the living room, where they are met with the sight of Mike Chang, carrying several bags of take out.

Almost instantly, a desperate voice calls out from behind them, and they see a flash of black hair moving to tackle him. "You brought actual food!" Tina snatches up a bag and steals it away into the kitchen.

"Uh…" Mike stands there, startled. "Hey, guys."

"Tina!" Santana yells, rolling her eyes.

Tina's head peeks out from the kitchen doorway, cheeks full of food. "Oh, hi Mike." Then she disappears.

Santana grabs the rest of the bags and gives Mike an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Boy Chang."

"Wait, are you guys sure you didn't see anything suspicious on the way here? They could be waiting until night to strike!"

Santana is pretty sure Sam Evans is the stupidest man on the planet.

* * *

**A/N:** So, for some odd reason I always picture my best friend whenever I write about Tina, that's why I make Santana be such an asshole to her. Because, you know, I'm an asshole to my best friend too. So don't think I hate Tina or anything. She's actually one of my favorite characters, just because of all that undeniable sass.

Thanks for reading!


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